Badly Written Summery
by akaiciel
Summary: Pointless fluff of Takao and Max on a Sunday afternoon in summer. Takao/Max, incredibly mild lime. (title changed 27/4/03)


A/N: This is pure, unadulterated, sappy fluff, pointless and plotless, not to mention unpolished. I also think I cross the lines of OOC at points, though I tried to avoid it where possible, and I think my description leaves a lot to be desired.  
  
I'm very aware that this won't be to a lot of people's taste. Frankly, I'm not even sure this is a fic that I'd read if presented with it, but this is one of those that's written purely for myself to express something that I'm feeling today, and I really don't mind if people read it or not. That said, if you do read and enjoy it then please let me know! ^__^  
  
Constructive comments are welcome, particularly considering I haven't been through this fic with a fine-toothed comb the way I usually do, it was written very much for the moment, and I'd like to keep it that way, however amateurishly raw it is.  
  
DEDICATION: This is for Ishshi, because a large part of my feeling so fluffy and happy today is due to her.  
  
Summer Awakens  
  
There is always a moment where summer truly feels like summer. It's usually when you're outside, with the sun pressing on your back like a hot iron and the breeze an afterthought of the morning's dew. You could well be by a river that hasn't been so calm since it was frozen, or in the mottled shadow of a tree that's finally regained its full complement of leaves. You could even be in an office, just realising that for the first time that year, you want to take your tie off, or open a window. It doesn't matter where you are, when you are, who you are or how you are, there is always a moment where you know, without a shadow of doubt, that summer has finally arrived.  
  
Takao could smell the cut grass every bit as clearly as the blistering charcoal one of his neighbours was preparing to barbecue over. His neighbourhood became especially animated on warm Sundays, as men and women who worked in tall buildings and stuffy rooms through the week took the opportunity to wear T-shirts and step outside for once, either with a lawnmower and a pair of shears or raw meat and plenty of plates.  
  
Suddenly, for no particular reason, Takao felt a smile creep across his face, and he realised something very important.  
  
He was happy.  
  
If someone is rarely unhappy, they are also rarely appreciative of just how wonderful their life is. Every now and then though, it just hits them - usually at the exact moment summer does.  
  
Some don't acknowledge the moment until it's long gone and leaves have begun to fall once again, but some, once hit with the realisation, are overwhelmed with the need to share it with someone.  
  
Takao felt his smile grow even wider until he could feel it in his cheeks. Quietly, he pulled the door shut behind him and walked down his sparse garden path. He moved slowly at first, but with more and more purpose until he was running down the street, waving a silent response to his neighbours' greeting calls.  
  
Max went to church every Sunday with his father. Every Sunday, without fail, he would dress up in his best suit, and was driven by his equally smartly-dressed father to the Church of Our Lady, the only Catholic church of the area.  
  
As a child, he had minded this custom terribly, playing every trick in the book to avoid going to church with his parents. He had very clear memories of serious tantrums every weekend - up until the day after his mother left. His father had been very quiet that morning, but had still insisted they go to church, and for the first time, Max hadn't objected a bit.  
  
From the moment he had sat on that pew and seen tears welling up in the eyes of the strongest person he knew, Max realised that church was something special, too special to miss on account of a child's boredom.  
  
It reached a point where he even enjoyed the routine of it, especially the drive. If it was cold, he would snuggle into his duffle coat inside the car, place his hands on the window and pretend that by scraping away the ice on the car's exterior, a layer of skin was being removed from his palm as well. If it was warm, he would wind down the same window, stick his hand out and make it rock, paper or scissors, enjoying the harsh feel of the breeze as it sped over his hand, knocking it back or weaving between his fingers.  
  
It was also a time to talk, one of the few times where Max's father would make it clear that Max was loved, and Max could respond with a similar expression. They would surround these words of significance with easy conversation, meaning that if you weren't listening closely enough you might miss the most important part of it all.  
  
But no-one was ever allowed to listen to these conversations, and Max never missed his father's words or the meaning behind them. It was a tradition he wouldn't have given up for the world.  
  
Church itself was dull, and having to do up his top buttons, roll down his sleeves and put his formal jacket and tie back on was enough to make it a chore. Yes, it was something he wouldn't give up for the world, but Max did wish things would be a little more interesting in that hour.  
  
On this particular day, things got a lot more interesting the moment the last notes of the last hymn died away and the congregation filtered outside for tea and orange. In summer, the tables of food and drink were placed outside, perhaps in an effort to draw in new parishioners, perhaps simply as an antidote to the sometimes stifling warmth of the mass itself. Either way, Max didn't actually pay too much attention to the polystyrene cup- laden tables when he caght a glimpse of Takao on the other side of the road.  
  
Just at the sight of him, Max felt a little taller, a little more full. "Hey, Takao!" he shouted, oblivious to the disapproving looks of the older parishioners. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Not much!" Takao called back, jumping down from the wall he had made a perch for the past half hour. "Want to go to the park?"  
  
Max looked up at his father. "Dad, can I?" he asked, the note of a plea in his voice.  
  
Mr Tate gave his son a kind smile, returning Takao's cheery wave. "Off you go,Max," he said briskly, "I'll see you later!"  
  
Max grinned broadly, and with a quick "Thanks, Dad!" he skipped away from the church. Takao clambered back up on to the wall and the grass it held back, waiting for Max to join him.  
  
"So, what are you doing here?" Max asked, only slightly mindful of the laundry he'd have to do as he dug his knees into the dirt while climbing up.  
  
Takao grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet. "Seriously, not much," he said with a shrug. "I just figured it was too nice a day to stay in. Do you mind?"  
  
Max shook his head happily. "Nuh-uh!"  
  
"Good," was all Takao said before checking that no-one could see and taking Max's hand in his own.  
  
As they walked in the shadow of all the posing trees, Max intertwined their fingers and tightened his grip. While the feel of something as elusive as water or the wind could be relaxing, he could compare nothing to the feel of another person and the love that went with it.  
  
"I've never seen you in a suit before," Takao said suddenly. "Do you wear that every day or was today special or something?"  
  
"No, every Sunday," Max confirmed.  
  
"Isn't it hot?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So why haven't you taken some of it off already?"  
  
With other people, it would be simple enough to make a million and one lewd comments and jokes at this simple query, but with Takao, it was impossible. He was either entirely unaware of the connotations he created or aware and actively ignoring them. Either way, Max didn't want to risk the innocent enjoyment of their time together on a stupid joke that Takao might or might not appreciate.  
  
Instead, Max said softly, "Because I don't want to stop this."  
  
"This?"  
  
"Holding your hand."  
  
Takao stopped walking, and faced the other boy, looking him straight in the eyes.  
  
His face broke into a mischievous grin. "Then why didn't you just say so?" he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
Keeping his left hand in Max's right, he placed his own right hand on Max's collarbone and moved it down the shirt sleeve, taking the jacket lapel with it. Max rolled his shoulder back and contorted his arm to make it easier to slide over his elbow then wrist. Once it was off, and half his jacket was hanging behind him, Takao took Max's empty hand in his own, separated their other hands and repeated the entire process until Max held the whole garment in one hand.  
  
"Thanks a lot, Takao," he said cheerily. "But now my hands are full, I can't take my tie off..."  
  
He looked expectantly at Takao, who flicked his forehead. "It also means you can't hit back," Takao commented, while Max adopted an injured expression. "But I guess I could do you a favour this one time."  
  
With his free hand, Takao tucked a finger into Max's tie and loosened it, then undid the top two buttons. With natural ease, he moved his hand down to the waistband and began to pull out Max's shirt. Using only one hand for the job, he found himself pulled very close - though probably slightly closer than was absolutely necessary - when he was untucking the fabric at the back. The shirt cloaked his hand as he let it rest on Max's smooth skin, but could hide nothing else as Takao leaned in for the kiss they both knew had been coming for a while.  
  
When they finally began walking again, it was in anything but silence, with conversation flowing like a brook the way it always could. Awkward silences had never been a problem for either of them, and while there might sometimes be a lack of sound in their communication, it was never for a lack of things to say.  
  
When Max realised where he was being led, he looked, if possible, even more pleased. Old Smokey was a tree Takao held a lot of fond memories for, from the days he had named it "Smokey Oakey" and his parents had let him pretend to swing from the lowest branches as a child to days just like this one. Now, Max was building up a similar kaleidoscope of happy memories involving Old Smokey and Takao.  
  
He collapsed in a heap in amongst the roots and leaned his head back until it touched the trunk, his eyes closing as they were tilted towards the sun. Absentmindedly rolling his sleeves up, he murmured, "I'm glad you brought us here."  
  
Takao was still standing, taking in Max's profile. From the spiky hair to the unusually long eyelashes that Max hated with a passion, from his sculptured nose and chin and past the curve of his Adam's apple to the loosely disarranged collar and shirt beneath it, he suddenly looked more beautiful than anything else Takao could imagine.  
  
Beautiful. It was a word he had avoided with disgust for most of his life, only really taking it to heart and using it regularly after he had met Max. It wasn't a description he had shared with Max yet, or anyone else for that matter, but rather his own secret, a comfortingly private thought he could keep to himself - much like his relationship with Max.  
  
Sensing that he was still alone under the tree, Max shifted his head upright and squinted through the sunlight. "What are you doing still standing, Takao?"  
  
Takao stepped forward and sat cross-legged, facing the other boy. Max looked surprised.  
  
"I don't tell you," he said abruptly, aware of the hot flush crossing his cheeks, "But you mean a lot to me. You know that, right? You know you... mean a lot to me?"  
  
His words trailed off as he realised he wasn't ready to substitute these words for anything deeper yet.  
  
But it didn't matter. Max knew, and he nodded anyway. "I know," he whispered, lifting an arm. He reached out and touched the side of Takao's face, gently brushing strands of his hair back. "Sometimes... Sometimes I wake up, and I just don't believe it." He tempered his grin with a half- frown as he added uncertainly, "Do you know what I mean?"  
  
Takao nodded, and a smile spread across his face. "I know. But it's true, isn't it?"  
  
Max nodded once again, more firmly than before. Impulsively, he sat up completely, leaned forward and allowed his emotions to overwhelm him entirely as he pulled Takao into a fiercely reciprocated embrace.  
  
It's said that actions speak louder than words. This may well be true for many things, but in many other things, a few well-chosen words can season the clearest of actions, completing and sweetening a motion that might otherwise have been taken for granted or missed entirely.  
  
They lay under the tree, Takao's head on Max's lap, talking and laughing about everything and nothing until Takao's stomach declared it was time for dinner. They stood together, separated with a kiss and left with the unspoken promise that someday, this would all be repeated. 


End file.
